Hands Free

The fog had lifted by the time the FBI finished processing the scene.

Julian Vane was in handcuffs, sedated and blubbering. The briefcase had been recovered, the surveys inside damning enough to send the entire Vane board of directors to prison for life.

Elias sat on the back of an ambulance, a blanket around his shoulders. A paramedic was checking his hands for cuts.

"You're good, kid," the paramedic said. "Just exhaustion."

Elias nodded. He reached into his pocket for his gloves. He paused.

He looked across the parking lot. Maya was talking to a reporter from the city, gesturing wildly, looking every bit the investigative journalist she was born to be. She saw him.

She excused herself and walked over. She didn't say anything. She just held up her hand for a high five.

Elias looked at his gloves. Then he looked at his bare hand.

The town was still loud. There was still pain. But now, underneath the rust and the rot, there was something else. A hum of justice. A buzz of excitement. A collective sigh of relief.

It wasn't noise anymore. It was music.

Elias left the gloves in his pocket. He raised his bare hand and slapped Maya’s palm.

*Smack.*

The echo was instant: *Pride. Joy. Victory.*

"Nice work, Ghost," Maya grinned.

"Nice work, Warrior," Elias replied.

He took a deep breath of the salty air. For the first time in his life, Oakhaven didn't feel like a graveyard. It felt like a beginning.